He opens his eyes.
It's raining outside, but the curtains are only half drawn, and a dim light pours in through the window and falls over his bed. The water falling against the glass seems to slide over his sheets, with each droplet racing to reach the edge where they disappear from view.
Beyond his bed, the room is cast in dark, blue-grey shadows. Light from the hall glows underneath the door, yellowing the molded edge of the walls. It doesn't take his eyes long to adjust, or for him to blink the sleep away. It takes longer for his brain to catch up to full wakefulness.
His left arm aches dully and itches from inside his cast. His legs are also itchy, though they're free under his sheets. His head is very heavy. He reaches up with his good arm and touches gingerly. Gauze sticks out the bottom of the bandages. The smell of dried blood hits him very suddenly, and he winces. He immediately misses the vague, humid scent of rain.
Something in the room stirs.
A dark shape slumped against the corner shifts and sighs. He stares at it until it the edges became clearer and the solid silhouette falls away to faint lines and quiet form. A man is sitting there, his eyes closed, thick black curls falling over his face. He had stretched slightly, but does not seem to be awake.
Aoyagi stares at him for a long time. When finally he lies back down and closes his eyes, the rain has stopped.
"What's your name?" she asks him.
"Aoyagi Hajime," he says.
"Your birthday?"
"February twenty-fourth."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty five."
"Your blood type?"
"AB positive."
"Where do you live?"
He takes a deep breath. He doesn't like that the questions are coming so quickly.
The doctor speaks softly, but she is wearing a very severe expression, and he finds himself continuously distracted by the deep wrinkles in her brow and the sharp turn of her lips where they shape her endless frown. His head is still very heavy; sitting upright is tiring.
"Where do you live?" she asks again, more slowly this time.
"K-Kimitsu..." he mumbles, suddenly unsure.
His own uncertainty surprises him, and it earns a nod from the doctor, along with a scribbled note on her clipboard.
He looks away. He can picture his apartment in his head, but it feels like a vision from a dream, like the image of raindrops racing across his bed the night before.
"Where did you graduate high school?"
His head hurt now.
The doctor watches him carefully. The wrinkles in her brow soften a little, along with her eyes.
"So...soho..." He closes his eyes. "Somewhere in Chiba," he says.
He hears her pen scratch against paper.
"Do you remember what happened?"
With his eyes closed, he sees his apartment more clearly in his head. He lives on the fourth floor, and in the summers it gets very warm. They often leave the windows open, and.
"Aoyagi-san," the doctor prompts quietly. "Do you remember what happened?"
He opens his eyes. There is pressure at the front of his skull, right in middle of his forehead. He can still smell the blood dried under his bandages.
"No," he says.
"What's the last thing you do remember?"
"Ice cream," his mouth says, though he does not know why until a moment later, when his brain catches up and remembers the little cafe by the train station. It had been good ice cream. Mango. He doesn't know what happened after that. It had been a nice evening with a warm summer breeze.
The doctor smiles a little, and he thinks that it looks nice on her. He wants to draw it. He is glad his right hand isn't the one in the cast.
"You were hit by several motorcycles, one after the other."
It is a weary expression, but she still smiles, and he stares at the edges of her lips, thinking about abstracting the shapes and lines and colors.
"That was two weeks ago," she continues. "We're very lucky to still have you with us."
He wants to go home and sit by the open window. There is a bird feeder on the sill and in the mornings and evenings, songbirds would come by.
The doctor keeps talking, explaining to him the damage to his body. His arm will be fine. His legs will be fine. He will be able to fill in the gaps in his memory, eventually. Probably. He doesn't need to think too much about the accident, though he probably shouldn't get back on a bicycle for a while. His body will be fine. He will be fine. His husband will be there to pick him up soon.
Aoyagi startles back to attention.
"Who?"
The doctor looks, for a moment, just as surprised as he must have, but her expression quickly falls back into a sad weariness.
"Teshima Junta-san... will be here to pick you up soon."
Aoyagi doesn't recognize the name.
They speak out in the hall for a long time before coming in. He can hear their voices, but he can't make out the words.
It is nice, just hearing voices without needing to comprehend. He likes the almost company, the proof of the existence of others around him, without the pressure to engage. The man's voice is softer and pitched higher than he expects, but it's nice. Aoyagi guesses that he's probably a good singer.
It's raining again outside, but he can see the sun in the distance, over another city, maybe in the next prefecture. Would they be going home to the apartment in his head, or was that just a dream apartment after all?
There are new voices in the hall now: a rough, deep voice and a fast one with fading traces of Kansai-ben. The door opens to reveal four people: the doctor, a large man with short hair, a small man with red hair, and a third man with thick black curls and a wide smile that did not quite reach his eyes: the man that had been sleeping in the corner of his maybe-dream.
"Aoyagi-san," the doctor says. "Are you ready to go?"
He looks over the odd assembly of men. They don't really look like they belong together in a group. He does not recognize any of them, though part of him thinks that their muffled voices in the hall had been familiar. Part of him also argues that he only thinks he feels familiarity because he thinks that he should. He is supposed to know these people. They are his friends. And family.
He nods and looks down. From the corner of his eye, he sees the redhead open his mouth, but the large man elbows him and says, "Come on, Aoyagi. Let's go before it starts raining even harder."
The large man and the curly-haired man – Teshima Junta-san - help him stand briefly and walk him over to a wheelchair. Aoyagi thinks that he can probably walk, but he feels light-headed after standing and it is too much trouble to protest, anyway.
"How are you feeling?" the redhead asks as they wheeled him out of the room. "Are you remembering anything new yet?"
Aoyagi sees the large man roll his eyes and sigh.
"No…" Aoyagi says. "And I don't…remember who you are."
To his surprise, the redhead laughs.
"Ka ka ka! Is that so? Naruko Shoukichi isn't so easily forgotten! I know you'll remember how awesome and amazing I am soon enough, senpai!"
"Naruko…Shoukichi," Aoyagi repeats. "…I'm your senpai…huh?"
"And you're as talkative as ever, huh Quiet-senpai!" Naruko laughs.
The large man laughs too. "And I'm Tadokoro Jin," he says. "I'm your senpai."
"We're not in school anymore," Aoyagi says.
"Maybe not, but so what?" Tadokoro chuckles. "Old habits die hard. You'll remember soon. I know you will."
Aoyagi says nothing to this. Teshima puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes gently. "You'll remember… Hajime."
The apartment is different from the one he saw in his head, but only in small parts. They are on the fourth floor, but the bird feeder is on the balcony, not by the window. The window he had been thinking of is there, but it is smaller and faces east for the sunrise, not west for the sunset.
There are at least a dozen houseplants in the little apartment, including a large spider plant whose leaves were beginning to curl and turn brown on the ends. The aloe plant's leaves are also drooping.
"These are pretty easy to take care of," he remembers himself saying. "Even you could do it." He doesn't remember who he had been speaking to, but logically he knows that it had to have been Teshima. There had been laughter in response to his words.
The apartment is filled with his paintings: some framed watercolors, some stretched canvas. There is one frame with multiple openings, each with a small graphite drawing of a flower.
The watercolors are mostly of birds, though there are also a few vignettes of quiet scenes: a bicycle leaning against a building he thinks looks familiar; a helmet and a pair of gloves; Teshima, with his hair falling into his eyes and a bright, genuine smile.
The canvases all have abstract shapes and colors, but they frustrate him more than the others. They are familiar, but the things he had thought when he'd painted them are just out of his reach. He runs his hands over the rough, dried acrylic paint, but he doesn't remember.
The bedroom has a bed that is too big for one person, but he sleeps in it alone because Teshima insists on taking the couch.
"I kick in my sleep," he says, smiling. "You need to heal."
Not once yet has Aoyagi seen Teshima smile like he is in his painting of him, but he doesn't comment on it.
There are photographs in the bedroom, some framed, many in albums. Tadokoro and Naruko are in some of them, along with a dozen other people he doesn't recognize: a tall man with strange, iridescent hair; a serious-looking man with sunglasses; a good-looking boy who always looked uncomfortable; a small boy with round glasses and a bright smile.
He knows they had been in a bicycling club together, but he doesn't remember any of it. He doesn't remember ever having ridden a bike.
There are other photos. Of himself and Teshima. The one on the bedside table shows them laughing and squinting into the camera's flash while fireworks explode behind them. Truthfully, it isn't a very good picture; they both look ridiculous in it, but they also look happy.
Aoyagi feels a profound sort of emptiness looking at it; he doesn't really feel anything, though he's sure he's supposed to.
His laptop has even more photos on it. He remembers the password to the laptop, or at least, his fingers do. He doesn't know, doesn't remember, what "corratec" actually is until he looks it up.
The folders on his laptop are meticulously sorted by date and place or event. There are thousands of photos of Teshima, including many candid ones, or half-candid ones, where Teshima is turning towards him just as the camera clicks, and there's a blur of black hair half covering his eyes or his smile.
Aoyagi can't bring himself to browse through these photos for more than a few minutes at a time. The emptiness he feels in place of what had once been something else is overwhelming. The guilt is overwhelming.
"I said 'no,' okay? Just leave it. It's fine!"
Teshima's voice carries easily on the late summer breeze, and even four floors up, the words are clear, as is the hurt and frustration. Teshima's mother's voice is not as loud, so Aoyagi cannot make out the words, but he can still pick out the concern and irritation.
"I know they're beyond repair," Teshima says. "I don't care! I don't want to throw them out."
His mother responds.
"When…When Hajime remembers. We can toss them then. And get new ones… Yes. I know. I know! It's fine. Don't worry about it. Can we go back inside now?"
Teshima smiles at him when he gets back upstairs, but Aoyagi doubts that he thinks he's fooling anyone.
When the cast comes off, he is surprised to see the ring on his finger.
It has always been there, of course, under the hard plaster and wraps, but being able to see it now makes his arm feel heavier than it had with the cast on.
There is a photo from their wedding in the living room with the date on it. Three years. They'd married after college. He doesn't know how long they'd been together before that. Since high school, he supposes, from the pictures.
He has begun to detach himself from the photos. Instead of remembering the scenes in them, he sees the person there as someone else. Another someone he can't remember. A twin from a past life. It lets him feel less guilty about not remembering, thinking it's someone else's life he's walked into.
It takes some wriggling to get the ring off his finger. His skin is red underneath. He is sure that he's never taken it off before. It's plain silver and has no designs on the outside. On the inside of the ring, though, is engraved "a team of two."
He puts the ring back on. His hand feels heavy with it there, but for the minute he had it off, it felt like he didn't have a hand at all.
Teshima sings in the shower and sometimes when he cooks, punctuating notes and lyrics loudly over the hiss of the vegetables in the wok. He does have a very nice singing voice, but Aoyagi doesn't feel triumph in having guessed correctly. He'd known. He should always have known.
Most of the songs are upbeat in melody, but the lyrics are always sad. Teshima sings of love and loss, but always smiles when he cooks and when he serves food, or really, any time he thinks Aoyagi might be looking.
He chatters through meals, talking about work and his co-workers and the weather and their former teammates and the cat that lives downstairs in the garage. Aoyagi never has much to say in response.
"I'm sorry," he says, when the last of the leaves outside had changed color. "I still don't remember anything. I know about the things that people have told me, but I don't really remember them."
"It's okay," Teshima tells him, with a smaller than usual smile. "It's okay."
"What if I never remember?"
"You will."
"What if I don't?"
"That's okay, too," Teshima says, but his smile fades further. "You don't need to worry about it or force yourself… I just want you to be happy."
Aoyagi looks down at his homemade udon.
"Are you happy?"
"I don't know," Aoyagi says. He looks up. "Are you?"
Aoyagi still sleeps alone in the bed that is too big.
Some nights he wakes to the sound of footsteps in the other room, and he'll listen as Teshima gets himself a glass of water in the middle of the night. Sometimes he hears the lamp turn on and pages turning in a book, or the sound of fingers quietly hitting buttons on the 3DS. Sometimes there is the sound of muffled sighs and sobs against a pillow. Sometimes Aoyagi thinks that he hears these things in his dreams, too.
On the bad nights - when the sounds are not so quiet, when he hears the soft pop of the cork leaving the sake bottle, when the fingers against the buttons begin to sound aggressive, and when the hiccupped breathing is not so muffled - Aoyagi thinks about going into the other room. But he thinks that his presence would do more harm than good, somehow, and never does.
He paints on most days.
As the days grew shorter though, the birds outside do not linger as long, and the lighting in his studio corner of the living room changes frequently. It's fine for small warm-ups and sketches, but he has to resort to working from photographs for more involved pieces.
He does not feel as strange looking at the photos on his laptop anymore. Teshima is a familiar sight again, though he has yet to see any of the captured smiles in person. It is comfortable to be able to paint something familiar, even if he still feels detached. His hand remembers the form and the colors and the way to best paint the beautiful hair. Aoyagi doesn't have to think much.
Teshima stares openly the day he comes home to find himself on Aoyagi's canvas again, but he doesn't comment on it.
The landlord is aware of his accident, but not of his amnesia, and shows up one day in the middle of the afternoon.
"Your bikes are still chained up in the garage, you know," he says. "I don't mind, but it seems kind of silly, you know? They're beyond repair, as far as I can tell. Have you talked about getting new bikes yet? I'm sure you both miss riding… I can't believe you pair of nerds have gone so long without, to be honest."
Aoyagi sips his tea while the landlord talks, nodding now and again, but not knowing at all what he is expected to say.
"I have a friend who's looking to sell, you know. I don't know much about brands or whatever, but I know they're nice bikes! You're not scared to get back on a bike now, are you? Doesn't seem like you, you know."
He has not thought about bicycles at all, really. He knows he was on one at the time of the accident, but it feels like a trivial detail, somehow.
"Anyway, talk to Teshima about it, won't you? They're good bikes, and I know my friend wants them in good homes."
After the landlord leaves, Aoyagi goes downstairs to the garage. He has never been there before, that he remembers. Past the entrance, he walks past a row of bikes belonging to various neighbours. They are a mix of mountain bikes and hybrid commuter bikes, though Aoyagi is surprised he can tell. In the back, two broken road bikes lean against the wall, utterly destroyed.
The tires have been removed and the metal frames are torn and bent out of place. The top tube of the white one has been ripped from its head tube and is curled part way around the seat tube of the black bike. The brake wires are tangled everywhere . The black bike is missing its chain, and the white bike's chain is wrapped tightly around its seat tube. The white bike's front derailleur has been crushed like a can.
The terminology floods his head as he looks at the two bikes tangled together. He remembers having fixed bicycles before, but these are certainly beyond repair.
It is not until he leaves the garage that he fully processes that there are two broken bicycles. He has not asked for any details of the accident, but the doctors have only ever mentioned the motorcycles hitting him. No one has told him that Teshima had been there too.
In the evening, he forgets to mention that the landlord had stopped by.
On the first day it's cold enough to need a scarf, Aoyagi kisses Teshima on the cheek as he's leaving for work. It's impulsive and he doesn't realize it until he's already pulling away. The look of shock on Teshima's face is brief. He doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he kisses Aoyagi on the forehead, mumbles a goodbye, and leaves.
"Have a good day," Teshima had said.
I love you, Aoyagi had heard.
The spider plant is healthy again, under his care, and the leaves on the aloe no longer droop. Many of the other plants had gone dormant for the winter, but he knows that it's normal for them to do so.
He cleans the apartment and opens all the windows on a clear day, letting the cold wind blow all through the apartment. It feels like a small triumph.
He remembers his first solo exhibition in his first year of college. It's in a little café and he isn't quite sure it should even count as an exhibition. He's just hanging art on consignment, really. But they print nice postcards advertising the show, and he sells several pieces by the time the month is up.
He doesn't remember as easily what sort of pieces had been in that show. He guesses that that meant the subject matter had been bicycles. Or Teshima. Or both.
The new exhibition opens the week before Christmas. Most of the pieces are paintings of birds. Tadokoro and Naruko show up, along with another man from the photographs. The tall, good-looking fellow introduces himself awkwardly as Imaizumi. Aoyagi does not remember, but no one presses.
He sees them speak in polite undertones to Teshima at various points during the evening, but Teshima looks annoyed until he catches Aoyagi watching.
Aoyagi is tired of Teshima's half-smiles and fake smiles. He doesn't like that they're for his sake.
At the end of the night, Naruko remarks, "You've gotten even quieter, Quiet-senpai."
"Sorry," he says.
"No, it's fine," Naruko says. "I just wonder what you're thinking is all. You're very mysterious! But maybe that's why your paintings are so nice."
Aoyagi smiles ruefully. "I don't think it'd be good of me to speak more then, in that case."
The redhead laughs. "Don't be like that, senpai! Your paintings are beautiful no matter how much or little you talk!"
They see them off at the train station, and when they get home, Aoyagi takes out another canvas.
Teshima prepares a lavish dinner and a beautiful cake on Christmas day. Everything is delicious and filled with flavours Aoyagi hadn't realized he'd forgotten. Teshima is especially talkative, but his smiles fall apart quickly when he thinks Aoyagi isn't looking.
"Teshima," Aoyagi says, and Teshima winces at his own name. "You don't have to try so hard."
Teshima starts to respond, but Aoyagi interrupts him. "It doesn't make me happy to see you fake your smiles."
The next smile is reflexive, Aoyagi knows, but no less forced. Teshima opens and closes his mouth several times, but doesn't seem to know what to say.
"Cry if you need to," Aoyagi says.
Teshima shakes his head, still smiling painfully.
Aoyagi reaches out and touches his face. Teshima holds his hand there, kisses it, and closes his eyes. Aoyagi can see the tears underneath the lashes, but they do not fall. There is silence for a few moments, then Teshima says, "I'll clean up, if you're finished eating."
Teshima cries later, in the bathroom. Aoyagi can hear him, and he remembers how to pick the lock on the bathroom door, but he doesn't go in.
When Teshima lies down on the couch that night though, Aoyagi lies next to him. The space is cramped and crowded, but Teshima doesn't ask any questions and doesn't push him away. Eventually, they settle underneath the blankets. Teshima wraps his arms tightly around Aoyagi's chest and buries his face into the back of his neck.
Aoyagi lays awake a long time, trying to decide if the feeling is familiar or not.
"Have you ridden since the accident?" Aoyagi asks.
Teshima startles visibly, but, as usual, composes himself quickly. He smiles. It's a sad smile, and it feels more honest. "No," he says.
"Why not?"
Teshima looks away.
Because it doesn't feel right, without you, Aoyagi hears.
"I don't remember having ever ridden a bike," he says. "I'd like to try."
Teshima looks back to him and Aoyagi sees a thousand emotions in his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
Kanzaki's Bike Shop is a city away. The train ride feels nostalgic, though Aoyagi isn't sure he properly remembers the last time he rode it. A lot of memories are like that now. He doesn't remember which are true memories and which are facts that people have told him about things he's forgotten. He is starting to think that it doesn't really matter though.
He doesn't remember the man at the shop, but Kanzaki takes it in stride.
"I think I'd be more upset if you did remember," Kanzaki says, laughing. "You've forgotten everything to do with cycling – if you remembered me, that'd mean I'm not lumped in with all these bike nerds and then I'd be hurt!"
The shop is not a dealer of any specific brand. A blue Corratec frame hangs from the ceiling amongst Bianchis and Treks and a lone black Cannondale.
"It's your size, the Corratec," Kanzaki says, grinning.
"What about the Cannondale?" Aoyagi asks.
"A bit big for you, probably."
Aoyagi looks up at the bike frames for another few moments, then says, "I want to ride the Cannondale."
Kanzaki glances sideways at Teshima, but Teshima only shrugs.
Aoyagi watches with concentrated interest while they attach derailleurs and handlebars and brakes and wheels and all the other parts that make up a bike. He remembers all the part names and where they go. He is half sure that he can have put it together himself.
He remembers how to adjust the straps on the helmet and the click when he snaps them together is very satisfying.
He only makes it a few feet before the bike tips and he loses his balance, but he catches himself easily and doesn't fall.
"That's not bad for not having ridden in eight months!" Kanzaki cheers behind him.
Aoyagi kicks off again and this time makes it down the street before turning around and coming back. A car passes him from behind as he does so, and he can see Teshima tense, even from a distance.
"You're right," Aoyagi says. "The frame is too big."
Kanzaki laughs. "I can put together the Corratec for you. Come back for it in another week or so." The bike mechanic turns to Teshima. "Did you want to try the Cannondale? You know I was saving it for you."
Teshima looks at the bike a moment, then looks up and smiles at Kanzaki. "Not today, thanks."
Kanzaki raises an eyebrow at him and sighs a little bit. "You're being too hard on yourself," he says.
"Next week," Teshima says.
They bring the bikes home on Aoyagi's birthday, though Teshima still has not ridden his. The old, wrecked bikes remain in the back of the garage while the new ones lined up with the neighbours'.
"I can't believe you waited this long," their landlord says. "Are you going to toss the old ones now?"
"Not yet," Aoyagi responds at the same time Teshima does, and Teshima looks at him in surprise.
The landlord shrugs, not understanding. "Whatever you guys want, I guess. It's weird to be sentimental about something like that though, isn't it?"
Aoyagi rides around the neighbourhood a few times. It's easy, comfortable, familiar. He still isn't sure how much of the familiarity is real and how much is from his knowing that it should be familiar, but he doesn't think about it as much.
Teshima watches him and smiles a real smile, but still does not ride his own bike.
Teshima moves gradually back into the bedroom and new familiarity and routine set in, along with the nagging feeling of nostalgia. He does kick in his sleep, but Aoyagi doesn't mind. His body is healed, and he finds that Teshima is easily pacified, anyway.
A touch, a hug, a kiss, a whisper, and he settles again. Teshima rarely wakes once he's fallen asleep. Aoyagi wonders if he remembers anything he's said to him in the middle of the night, though truthfully he isn't sure he remembers half of what he says either. Half asleep, his lips move on their own, and he only knows that they both settle back into the quiet of the night after the words fade away.
"Ride with me today," Aoyagi says.
Teshima looks up from his natto, but doesn't respond immediately.
"What are you afraid of?"
Teshima returns his gaze to the beans. "I don't know," he says.
"Liar."
Teshima shoves a spoonful of natto into his mouth, but his ears begin to go pink and he fidgets in his seat.
"It wasn't your fault," Aoyagi says. "The accident."
Teshima looks at him again and swallows.
"It wasn't your fault, and you know that," he repeats. "Ride with me today."
Aoyagi reaches across the table and takes Teshima's hands into his own. "Nothing bad will happen, Junta. I promise."
Teshima stares at him.
"Ride with me, Junta."
"Okay," Teshima says.
They take the train outside of the city so they can ride in the more secluded countryside.
Teshima frets and frowns for the first twenty minutes of the ride. He fidgets in his seat and changes his grip on his handlebars often, like he doesn't remember where his hands go. Aoyagi rides beside him, easily matching his inconsistent speeds, and smiles.
After the first half hour, Teshima relaxes somewhat. It's a chilly April afternoon and there's no one around for miles. They ride past fields of rice and beans. The roads are flat and easy, forgiving and patient.
Aoyagi doesn't need to concentrate much on the road. It's there, and he accounts for its little irregularities automatically. It's easy. He remembers how. He watches Teshima, who finally smiles after the second hour. It's soft and understated, but it's there, and Aoyagi's sure he hasn't noticed it himself.
On the train ride home, Teshima falls asleep and collapses with his head across Aoyagi's lap. His hair is dirty and oily from a long day's ride, but it's soft and Aoyagi can't keep himself from running his fingers through the curls.
Teshima starts riding his bike to work again.
They ride every weekend in the countryside, and they ride together to the store, hauling back the week's worth of groceries on temporary back racks. They talk more often now, about their rides, about the weather, about their friends, about art and work and music. More of Teshima's smiles are genuine.
Teshima tells him that he's smiling more often too.
Aoyagi hadn't noticed.
"How much do you remember now?"
Teshima looks down at his hands and it's obvious he feels guilty for asking.
Aoyagi clicks his tongue. "Look back up. Stop moving when you talk."
His husband laughs softly and returns his gaze to him. "Sorry," he says.
"I remember the Inter High," Aoyagi says, placing another few strokes on the canvas. "All three of them, but mostly the last one."
"That one was ours," Teshima says, and he starts to nod, but stops himself quickly. "Sorry," he says again.
Aoyagi shrugs and continues to paint. The days are growing longer again, and he is confident the light streaked across Teshima's face would not have a chance to change before he is finished.
"You kissed me before the start of the race, in front of everyone," Aoyagi says. "It was the first time you called me by my first name."
Teshima blushes furiously. "Did you remember that or did Naruko tell you?"
Aoyagi smiles. "Naruko did tease you a lot about that, didn't he?"
"What else has he been telling you?"
"Nothing," Aoyagi says. "I remembered."
The truck disappears out of view just as the sun falls behind the apartment.
"I'd had that bike since middle school," Aoyagi remarks.
"The frame was too small for you anyway," Teshima says, smiling. "It's been too small for you for a long time."
"It's not the same bike if you replace the frame."
"But all the other parts are okay, huh?"
Aoyagi shrugs and leans into Teshima, who wraps his arm around his waist and kisses the top of his head.
"Are you going to miss your bike?" Aoyagi asks.
"I don't think so."
Aoyagi nods and forgets his prior train of thought. It wasn't very important though.
"Let's go back inside," Teshima says. "We need to get up early tomorrow to meet Tadokoro-san at the new bakery."
"Mm."
"Naruko will be there too, I think."
"Mm."
"The three of you are going to race, huh?"
"Mm."
Teshima laughs as they crossed the threshold of their apartment. Aoyagi startles slightly as he's picked up and twirled around the living room before they both collapse onto the couch. Teshima hugs him tightly and buries his face into the crook of his neck.
"Welcome home, Haijime."
Aoyagi smiles and pulls him into a kiss. "It's good to back."